Bobby obediently did as he was told. ‘Jesus, Lyndon, that’s one hell of a story,’ he said, watching distractedly as his glass was filled with another healthy shot of rum. He was definitely feeling the effects himself.

‘Yeah, it sure as hell is, isn’t it,’ Lyndon agreed, pouring his own shot. ‘You can see why FDR wanted the whole mess kept under wraps, can’t you. Few know about it to this very day, and those who do “ain’t sayin’ nuthin”, I swear.’

‘But what about the families of the men who died,’ Bobby asked, ‘what were they told?’

‘I believe they were told their boys died of Ross River Fever,’ Lyndon said, ‘a tropical disease spread by mosquitoes in that part of the world. At least that’s what I heard they were told, I can’t be sure. I wasn’t kept in the know all those years back, you understand,’ he added with a self-deprecating smile that didn’t work, ‘being the young, naïve congressman I was.’

I doubt you were ever naïve, Lyndon, Bobby thought as he watched Johnson down another swig. In fact, I find it difficult to believe you were ever young. I think you were born into this world a hard-nosed, power-hungry, self-opinionated shit.

‘My, oh my,’ Lyndon set his glass of Bundy back on the desk, ‘doesn’t quite have the finesse of a good Scotch blend, but it carries a sting that satisfies, you’ve got to admit. Goes well with coffee, too, I might add.’

Bobby resisted the urge to ask for some coffee, the raw rum on an empty stomach inviting trouble, but he didn’t want to cause a distraction. He was far too intrigued.

‘How did Roosevelt react to your report? Did he accept your analysis of the situation?’

‘He most certainly did. FDR embraced my analysis wholeheartedly,’ Lyndon replied with the utmost admiration, although whether his admiration was directed towards Roosevelt or himself was impossible to tell. ‘Said my report had the damnedest effect on him, that he hadn’t realised things had gotten so out of hand with our black troops.’

There were certain elements of his investigation that Lyndon had chosen not to share with Bobby Kennedy, particularly any mention of Pete Vickers and the report he’d presented to FDR as his own. He considered the fact incidental in any event. His analysis of the situation had been the same as Vickers’ and any detailed report he might have written would have come to the same conclusion. Where was the harm in using the Australian’s material when it would never see the light of day anyway? His had been simply a labour-saving decision, practical and efficient.

‘FDR agreed we’d created the problem for ourselves by posting all those men out there in the tropics with no form of socialising, no women, no way of letting off steam,’ Lyndon went on. ‘He concurred totally with my personal view that we’d been just asking for trouble placing our black troops in such a position. Damnedest thing is, would you believe, he actually went right on ahead and built them a brothel. Slap bang in the middle of town what’s more.’